Private Hell
by AlElizabeth
Summary: OneShot set in Season 7. Dean can't take it any more and decides that he needs to get rid of Sam.


"You know what Sam? I'm tired of this," Dean's voice drew his brother's attention and he looked up from his laptop.

"Tired of what?" Sam asked, closing the computer and setting it on the bed beside him.

"This," Dean spread his hands to encompass the room, "This motel, the Leviathans, you."

Sam frowned, "M-Me?"

"Yeah, you heard me right," Dean said, "I've been looking after you my whole goddamn life, since I was four fucking years old and I'm still looking after you. It's absolutely ridiculous; it's disgraceful. It's a life sentence I didn't ask for or want. But here I am, saddled with you. Again. A ball and chain I can't shake off."

"Dean…" Sam said, "You… you don't mean that."

"I'm sick and tired of always cleaning up your messes," Dean continued, "I'm sick and tired of having to wipe your nose and bandage your booboos."

"Dean," Sam said, tears pricking his eyes.

"I didn't sign up to be your freakin' caretaker, Sam," Dean told him and stood.

"I- I'm sorry," Sam stammered. He didn't know Dean thought about him that way. Dean had seemed so concerned, so worried about him ever since Castiel destroyed Death's wall and his memories of the Cage started coming through. But maybe that was all just an act.

"Don't be sorry," Dean shook his head, stepping towards his brother, "Just don't. You're always sorry but nothing ever changes. You make the same mistakes over and over again."

"Do you… Do you want me to leave?" Sam asked. The idea of being on his own terrified him. He didn't know how he'd cope with it if his brother abandoned him. He would do anything if only Dean would let him stay.

"Please… Dean… Don't make me leave," Sam begged.

Dean stared at him and didn't speak for a long moment.

"I don't want you to leave," Dean answered finally and Sam momentarily relaxed.

"If you leave," his brother continued, "You could come back, and I can't have that."

"W-What? What are you talking about?" Sam stood up now, nervously, his right hand suddenly going to the scar that bisected his left palm and pressed down on the raised tissue, something he did now whenever he was scared or anxious.

"I have to kill you, Sammy," Dean told him, matter-of-factly, much the same way he'd inform his brother of the weather for the day.

"Dean," Sam said, shocked, eyes darting around the room for an escape route.

"It'll be better for both of us," Dean told him in a reassuring tone, "Don't you see that?"

Sam shook his head, tears overflowing.

"No, Dean… Please," he begged.

"I don't want to hurt you," Dean claimed, "Don't make me hurt you, Sammy."

Sam glanced around, searching for a weapon he could use to defend himself with. His gaze found the large, red lamp on the bedside table. Dean saw it too and lunged at Sam before he could move.

Sam reached for the lamp, the tips of his fingers slipping against its polished side before Dean dragged him to the floor.

Sam gasped as his brother dug his knees into his back, his entire weight preventing him from getting up.

"D'N!" Sam ground out, struggling to roll to the side and dislodge his brother.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Sammy," Dean's voice said from overhead.

"Don't!" Sam cried out and bucked, sending Dean backwards.

As soon as Dean's weight was lifted, Sam scrambled onto his knees, the muscles in his back aching.

Just as Sam was about to stand, he felt two hands grab the back of his shirt and drag him back down.

"Stop. Fighting. Sam," Dean growled as Sam thrashed and twisted, lashing out at his brother.

Dean once again pushed his full weight against his brother and Sam fell forward, his chin striking the carpeted floor.

"Please," Sam begged, "Dean, please don't."

Dean shoved Sam onto his back and sat on his chest, straddling him.

"Dean," Sam stared at his brother, tears streaming from his eyes, "Please let me go."

His brother however, red-faced, panting with exertion, did not seem to hear him and wrapped his hands around Sam's throat.

Sam grabbed Dean's arms, struggling to pull his brother's hands away. Dean simply squeezed harder. White spots flashed before Sam's eyes, his lungs burning for air. Darkness began creeping around the edges of his vision.

Then, suddenly the pressure on Sam's throat vanished and he gasped, choking and sobbing, as he struggled to breathe.

Dean still straddled him, "I can't fucking look at your face."

"What?" Sam rasped and Dean reached a hand to his bed and brought a pillow down.

Sam's eyes widened, "NO!"

Anything else he had been going to say was stifled by a mouthful of old motel pillow. Again Sam's vision was dazzled by dozens of bright white lights, like luminous snowflakes, even as his lungs heaved in vain in a futile attempt to receive oxygen through the cotton batting.

A deep blackness swam around the edges of his vision, growing large with every passing second, his dying brain welcoming the approaching darkness.

His hands fell limply away from his brother's arms and he ceased fighting, as the final synapse in his brain failed to fire and the darkness engulfed everything.

_W_

"Sammy!" Dean's voice startled Sam and his eyes snapped open.

His brother was standing over him, staring down at him. Sam was breathing heavily, like he had just run a marathon.

"Christ, are you okay?" Dean asked, "I kept calling your name but you wouldn't wake up!"

"I- I-" Sam stammered and then his nightmare suddenly came to forefront of his mind- Dean telling him he was tired of taking care of him, Dean fighting with him, Dean… Dean killing him.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, "It's nothing, really."

Dean frowned, "It didn't look like nothing."

Sam shook his head and brushed his bangs away from his face. He couldn't let Dean know how much Hell was affecting him. He had to tell his brother that everything was okay.

Sam looked at the end of his bed and Lucifer grinned at him.

"That was quite the doozy of a nightmare, Sammy, if I do say so myself," the Devil commented.

"Sam!" Dean said sharply, "You sure you're all right?"

Sam tore his gaze away from Lucifer and nodded.

"Okay," Dean replied but eyed him warily, as though he knew Sam was lying. He returned his bed and lay down.

"Try and get some more sleep, okay?"

"Okay, Dean," Sam muttered, pressing his thumb against the scar on his palm.

_SPN_

Bright light slanting through the flimsy motel blinds woke Dean early the next morning. Yawning widely, he stretched and turned his head to check on his brother. Sam sat against the headboard of his bed, chin against his chest, snoring lightly. Sitting up on the edge of his bed, Dean ran a hand through his hair before crossing to his brother's bed.

"Ah Sammy," he murmured and drew the blankets up higher, tucking them around his brother's shoulders.

Sam startled awake, flinching.

"It's okay," Dean said, "It's just me."

"I know," Sam muttered.

"Were you sitting like that since last night?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged. He watched his brother shove his bangs back from his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked and stood, stretching again, fingertips pointing at the ceiling.

"Awesome," Sam replied.

Dean snorted, "Sure."

"I'm fine," Sam replied, "Honestly. I got some sleep. I feel a lot better."

Dean paused. He didn't like the tone of Sam's voice. His answers were hurried, his pitch suddenly lilted.

Reaching out, he put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?" he asked.

Sam nodded but didn't meet his gaze.

Dean sighed and headed into the bathroom.

_SPN_

Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as soon as the bathroom door closed behind his brother.

"How long do you think you can pretend everything is all honky-dory before Dean gets suspicious?" Lucifer asked, lounging on Dean's vacated bed.

Sam watched as Lucifer drew a finger across his throat and red blood gushed from the wound. Quickly, Sam looked away.

Not wanting to sit and be taunted by Lucifer, Sam stood and started digging in his duffel bag, finding a change of clothes for the day.

"How do you think he'll do it?" the Devil stepped up beside Sam as he bent over his luggage, "A pillow over the face is all well and good, but pretty tame if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," Sam muttered in response, pulling out a white t-shirt and giving it a sniff.

"Personally I'd go for something bloodier," Lucifer grinned, "And more painful."

Sam hesitated putting the t-shirt back, waiting.

"I wonder if I could influence Dean to do something really fun," Lucifer wondered out loud, Sam straightened, seeing the Devil holding his chin thoughtfully.

"You can't," Sam hissed.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, "Wanna bet?"

Before Sam could respond, the Devil vanished. The hunter quickly grabbed his clothes and sat down on the end of his bed, telling himself that in no way, shape, or form could Lucifer do anything to his brother. He was a memory, a hallucination, a… whatever, not a physical presence. Dean couldn't even see him!

The bathroom door opened and Dean stepped out, fully dressed and ready to take on the day.

"There you go, Sammy," Dean said, "Do you want to do takeout or go out for breakfast?"

Sam stood, picking up his clothing and paused, "Can we just stay in?"

Dean nodded, "We can do that."

Sam turned towards the bathroom, freezing when he thought he saw Lucifer appear briefly, at Dean's side, hand on his shoulder, from the corner of his eye. Shaking his head, telling himself that there was no way that Lucifer could do anything to Dean; Sam closed the bathroom door and started to undress.

From beyond the closed door, Sam heard Dean speaking to someone on the phone, probably calling a breakfast place, and told himself to relax. Everything was fine. He was fine. Dean was fine. He was worrying for nothing.

Once he was dressed, Sam combed his hair, frowning, realizing he needed to wash it, before brushing his teeth. It was a relief, actually, not to have Lucifer hovering over him while he just wanted a little privacy.

"Hey, Sammy, are you almost done in there?" Dean's voice called cheerfully from the other side of the door.

"Almost," Sam replied from around his toothbrush and spat toothpaste into the sink, "Give me a second!"

Wiping his mouth on the hand towel laying in a heap on the counter, Sam grabbed his pajamas and opened the door.

And found himself staring at Dean pointing a pistol right at him.

"Dean?" Sam took an uncertain step back.

He then noticed that it wasn't just Dean. Lucifer was there, right behind his brother, mouth to Dean's ear. Lucifer saw Sam and smiled slyly.

"What are you doing? Put the gun down," Sam told his brother.

"I can't do this anymore, Sam," Dean told him, "I'm too tired."

"We… We can talk…" Sam said, his nightmare suddenly coming unbidden to his memory, "Can't we?"

"Shoot him," Lucifer said in a stage whisper, "You want to do it."

"Dean, please," Sam begged, "You don't have to do this."

"I can't… I can't keep looking after you all the time," Dean said, "It needs to end, right now or else it never will."

Sam shook his head, "Don't do this, Dean. Please. I'll get better. I promise, I will."

Dean didn't blink, "No, you won't. You never do, Sam. You make all these promises, say you'll change but you always stay the same and expect me to pick up the pieces of the things you break."

Sam felt tears prick at his eyes. This couldn't be happening, not now, not in real life. He was trapped, cornered in the tiny motel bathroom with nowhere to go. He didn't want to die in some shitty bathroom.

"I can leave," Sam suggested, "Let me do that. I'll just leave. Never see you again."

Dean shook his head.

"Shoot him," Lucifer whispered again and reached out, his hand over Dean's on the gun.

"De-" Sam began but a loud bang momentarily deafened him and pain blossomed in his abdomen.

Looking down, Sam saw blood staining the cloth of the t-shirt he'd just put on.

Sucking in a shaking breath, Sam laid a hand over the wound.

"De-" he tried again but his knees buckled and he collapsed in the doorway of the bathroom. The pain was incredible. A burning sensation and a horrible pressure that seemed to squeeze his insides every time he tried to move.

He looked up at his brother. Dean had lowered the gun and was watching him, his eyes dry but red-rimmed.

"D'n," Sam ground out, the taste of copper thick on his tongue.

Dean took a step back. Sam reached out with his free hand.

"Please," he rasped, something warm dripped down the side of his mouth, "Don't leave."

Sam groaned in pain and looked down, his hand was coated in blood and it was now creating a crimson pool beneath him. He lifted his head and rested it against the doorframe.

He suddenly shivered and turned to peer into the bathroom. Lucifer was there, crouched beside him.

"I told you, Sam," he chided, "I told you I could make Dean hurt you."

Sam shook his head, "No."

"You're right, of course," the Devil admitted, "Dean had to have those thoughts in his head already, I just gave him the extra nudge."

Sam tore his gaze away from Lucifer and moaned; even moving his head was painful, and sought out Dean. He didn't see him.

"He's left you, Sammy," the Devil told him, "He'll be back, to clean up the mess you've made, one last time, but he couldn't stand the sight of you any longer and had to walk out."

Tears leaked from Sam's eyes. He gasped out a breath, and then again. His lungs felt tight, as though they couldn't expand.

"D'n," Sam whimpered, "D'n."

"He can't hear you, Sammy," Lucifer reminded him.

Sam closed his eyes, shaking, gasping for air, his insides burning.

_S_

Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped. Dean, sleeping in the bed next to his, startled awake.

"Huh? Sam, you okay?" he mumbled, sitting up.

Sam rolled over quickly so Dean wouldn't see his face.

"Sammy," Dean called again.

"I- I'm okay," he muttered.

"No, your not," came the response and Sam gritted his teeth as he heard Dean get out of his bed and cross the short distance to his.

When Dean put a hand on his arm, Sam flinched away.

"Hey! It's just me," Dean comforted, not knowing that Sam was not relieved by the assurance.

"Sammy, will you look at me?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he spoke first, everything would be okay, maybe if he did that, Dean would just let him leave.

"I know I'm sick," Sam muttered.

"Yeah," Dean replied, drawing out the word, "And?"

"I know I'm a fuck-up," Sam continued.

"No more than I am," Dean argued.

"I am! You're always the one to look after me, patch me up, clean my messes," Sam insisted.

Dean's hand gripped his arm now, "Where is this coming from, Sam?"

"I… I want to leave…" Sam whispered, struggling to get the words out, "I want to leave and you won't have to worry about me anymore."

Dean tugged at his arm, trying to get him to face him, "Sam, Sammy, look at me, man, what the hell are you going on about?"

Sam forced himself to look into Dean's concerned green eyes.

"I…" he paused and licked his lips, "I'll pack my stuff and get out of your hair. It's what you want, I know."

"What?" Dean asked, "Sam, you're not making any sense. Can we just have a conversation about this like normal people? What's going on?"

Sam, steeling himself, continued, "I know you hate me, Dean. You don't have to pretend anymore. I understand. I'm a burden."

Dean stared at him, stunned.

"I don't think that," he argued, "Who said I thought that? Sam, I told you not to listen to Lucifer!"

Dean suddenly reached out and Sam flinched away. Dean grabbed his brother's hand and pressed down on the scar on the palm.

"Sam," Dean said, his tone serious, "I don't know what ideas that assholes has put in your head but I don't hate, I don't think you're a burden and yeah, your sick but that doesn't mean I want you to leave. You're my baby brother and always will be, no matter what. I changed your diapers when you were little and by God I'll be around to change your diapers when you're an old man."

Dean smiled but Sam didn't. He pulled his hand from Dean's grip.

"You… You don't want me dead?" he whispered.

"No!" Dean exclaimed, then, "Sammy, look at me, man."

Sam once again dragged his gaze to his brother's face.

"I have no clue what's going on with you but I'd rather go back to Hell and have Alistair torture me for the rest of eternity than hurt you."

Sam sighed and sat up.

Dean reached out and this time Sam didn't flinch as he wrapped his arms around his brother. Sam rested his cheek against Dean's chest, tears welling in his eyes.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured.

Sam smiled and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

**Story title comes from a song of the same name by Alice In Chains. **

**Story idea comes from a prompt by mandancie.**

**Please leave a review if you enjoyed this story.**


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